


Every Word

by TheExplodingPen



Series: James Bond Prompt Fills [3]
Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Body Worship, Bond has a thing for it, I mean, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Possessiveness, Q's voice, Scars, Voice Kink, cursing, insecure!Bond, mission!fic, swearing kink, who wouldn't have a thing for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheExplodingPen/pseuds/TheExplodingPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voyeuristic Q + Bond has a kink + his kink is Q.</p><p>00Q prompt: damn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hanging on Your...

There were a handful of times, during the events of Skyfall, that Bond had Q in his ear, talking about breadcrumb trails or telling him to get on a train. He never once heard Q break his posh, slightly stilted composure, even though he heard stories from Tanner and the minions about the Quartermaster swearing a red streak when he discovered that Silva had hacked them. He had allowed himself a moment to imagine the way the man's velvety voice would curl around the filthy syllables, how his tongue would flick the harsh consonants out towards the room, and the end result had been an entirely unsatisfying wank to every memory he had of Q speaking.

It got worse. 

Mallory gave him two weeks of leave to mourn M and get himself together, of which he used three days to drink himself into a vegetable-like state. He spent twenty-four hours dealing with his hangover, and showed up at headquarters on day five. Mallory wasn't surprised. There had been a few low-key missions, Mallory testing him to make sure he was field-ready, and then he was given a mission to Turkey, and Q was assigned to monitor his mission _as a bloody break_ from cleaning up the mess Silva left.

Bond didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. When Q's voice filtered through his comm on an all-night stakeout, though, he decided that ultimately, he was lucky. 

“...Demir on the way out of the meeting with Yilmaz, and are you even listening to a word I say?" 

Bond made a noise of affirmation, his eyes fixed on the entrance of the hotel the target was staying at. “Every word, Quartermaster. Demir's with Yilmaz, the target's with Demir. The tracker is on the vehicle, and now I'm simply waiting for the three of them to leave the hotel so you can track them back to their base." 

“Excellent. I will await the transmission.” 

“Hold on a second.” Bond shifted, making himself more comfortable in his seat in the bar across from the hotel. “Aren't you going to keep me company?” 

Bond felt more than heard Q laugh. “I do have better things to do, 007.” 

“Come on. Just for an hour or two until the trio decide to show their faces.” 

“You are incorrigible.” 

“Humour me.” 

There was a pause, and when Q's voice came across the comm again, it was quieter, smoother. Those were the only changes Bond's brain actually registered before Q's words filtered through. “And is this going to be like the time in Somalia when you got yourself off to me telling you about the plans for a new Walther?” 

Bond froze, his eyes still fixed on the entrance to the hotel. His mind flashed back to the incident Q had referenced, his cock twitching in his trousers in a Pavlovian response to anything to do with Q's voice. When he spoke, however, his tone was calm and even. “I wasn't aware you were monitoring that." 

Q snorted. “I've stopped telling you about every damn piece of surveillance equipment I have on you. It makes it much easier to track you down if you decide you want to disappear.” 

For a split second, Bond's breath caught in his throat. He quickly finished his inhale, feeling blood tint his cheeks at bit at his reaction. _Damn_. What kind of man was he to get all flustered over a spotted brat letting some low-grade expletive slip out over a _comm_ , no less, not even a bloody... 

"...fuck me over a desk, if you wanted to...” 

Bond's gasp was barely muffled by his tightly close lips. “Excuse me?” he managed, his grip tightening slightly on the martini glass in front of him. 

"Oh, please.” Q's voice was amused, almost... toying. “I'm not blind, 007. You look at me like some sort of fucking bird of prey. I'm surprised you haven't made a move yet. Especially considering your track record.” 

"I didn't...” 

"If you say 'I didn't know the feeling was mutual' I'm going to schedule you a bloody body-language class.” 

Bond swallowed. “I'm in public.” 

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Bond wanted desperately to adjust himself in his trousers, but the thought of Q seeing exactly how much of an effect he'd had on the agent was none too appealing. At least, not when Bond couldn't do anything to wipe off the smug little smirk that was bound to be on the boffin's face. 

"You won't be in public forever. I expect a _full_ report when you get back, 007." 

"Anything to get you to shut up,” Bond shot back, his voice entirely devoid of venom. 

"I believe I can think of a few ways to make that come about. Oh, and James, in case you start going over this conversation later, which, who are we kidding, of _course_ you will,this is me consenting. Completely.” 

Bond made a noise that sounded disturbingly like a fucking _whimper_ , and Q chuckled. 

"Hurry home, agent.” 


	2. ...every...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smut will happen in the next chapter, I promise.

Bond was back on English soil in record time. From what he gathered, the general consensus was that Q had finally managed to instill the fear of lack of equipment into the agent, and Bond was acting accordingly. Because not only was he back on time, his usual two to three week bender completely forgone, but every single piece of equipment Q had sent with him to Turkey had made it back with minimal scratching and absolutely no breakage.

Q-Branch was full when Bond arrived, much to his disappointment. Every fleeting (and not so fleeting) fantasy he had of bending the young Quartermaster over his desk and fucking him until that obnoxiously smooth voice cracked and broke fled, leaving him half-hard in his trousers with no sign of relief in the near future. To say the least, his mood was soured. He should have guessed that Q would be some sort of bloody _tease_.

The dark-haired man looked up, catching Bond's eye. “007,” he said, smiling faintly. “What a surprise. We weren't expecting you for another few days.”

“Miscalculation on my part,” Bond answered dryly.

Q raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Well. I had planned to brief you on your next assignment, _agent_ , but if you made a mistake in arriving so soon, I can put that on hold.”

“Next assignment?”

“I believe we discussed it during your last mission.”

Oh.

Bond swallowed, and Q grinned, his features taking on a disturbingly predatory glint. “My office, 007. As you were in Rio.”

Rio. Despite himself, Bond flushed, the pink tint creeping up his neck as he turned to walk into Q's private office. He closed the door behind him, and then closed his eyes, allowing himself to shiver before he reached up, popping the first button on his shirt collar as he began to strip down.

He folded his clothes neatly, setting them down on the edge of Q's desk. His jacket went first, followed by his shirt and his trousers. He laid his two socks on top of the pile, hesitating for only a moment before hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his pants and sliding them down past his hips. They joined his other clothes, cleanly folded and set aside.

Taking a deep breath, he braced his hands against Q's desk, facing the door. He spread his legs a little, and then let his head drop forward, giving himself a fifty-count before he slid down to his elbows, closing his eyes as the beginnings of the tension in his limbs began to leak away.

196 seconds later, James had slipped into a semi-conscious, completely relaxed state. He was just awake enough to keep himself on his feet, barely, and his breathing had slowed and evened. As soon as he felt himself go pliant, however, the door clicked open. He glanced up just long enough to see Q, acknowledge that his Quartermaster was now looking at him, bare, stripped of everything that made James Bond _007_ , and then bowed his head again, his eyes fluttering shut.

“As I was in Rio, sir.”

James heard Q chuckle, and he laced his fingers together, nails digging into the back of his hands. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was on display, that every scar and imperfection and divot and dimple was there, out in the open, for Q to see. Q, with the smooth skin and bright eyes and long fingers and the messy dark hair that just simply _begged_ for a hand to run through it. He shifted a little, and almost immediately, Q's hand settled on the small of his back, soft and warm and steadying.

The hacker brushed his thumb over a scar on James' side, tracing the length of it. “This one is my fault.”

James immediately shook his head, but he didn't move, otherwise. “I clipped a broken railing. That wasn't your fault, Q.”

The hacker's thumb continued to trace over the scar. “I miscalculated how much time you had left. You had to run.” The digit moved up his back before curling around his side, lightly touching another scar on his chest. “This one is my fault, too. Singapore.”

“You couldn't have anticipated...”

“Hush.”

James bit his lip, tensing for a moment before he finally relaxed again. “Agents get hurt.”

Q didn't answer for a while, his fingers dancing over James' body as he sought out and traced every scar the man had. It took longer than James cared to think about. He didn't care to think about any of it, at all. The feeling of Q touching him like that, of seeing the physical reminders of what he did for a living... it made him feel raw and exposed. Vulnerable. Which was enough to get his blood thrumming in his veins as Q finally made his way back to James' shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to the scar there, the one left from Moneypenny's ill-timed shot. “Mine.”

James huffed. “You weren't even Quartermaster yet, Q.”

Q's hot breath tickled his collarbone as the boffin laughed quietly. “This isn't a matter of self-loathing, James. I assure you. This one is M's fault, and the one on your ankle is your own damn fault. That wasn't what I meant.” He kissed the puckered skin again, and James shivered. “I know where every single scar is on every one of my agents.”

“Your agents?”

James' breath left him as Q scraped his teeth over the bone of his shoulder. “My agents. I send you away, and I bring you home. I keep you safe. M may order it, but I execute it, and you are my responsibility.”

Trembling just slightly, James nodded. “Why keep track of our scars? Surely you have better...”

James' words faded as Q slipped a single finger into his mouth. He quickly closed his lips around it, enjoying the little hitch in the hacker's breath much more than he should have. He flicked his tongue over the tip before sucking it as far into his mouth as he could, biting down lightly as he wrapped his tongue around the digit.

“Every scar reminds me of something very important.” Q's mouth was directly next to James' ear, his breath ghosting over the curve of it. Between his legs, James' prick hung, half-hard from the small touches and from Q's damn voice, from the finger in his mouth and the lips that were now tracing the shell of his ear. “I can do better. I can keep you safer. Each scar on every agent reminds me of that, and so I remember them. Always.”

He bit down lightly on the lobe of James' ear, making the agent jerk slightly as the rest of his blood rushed down to his cock. Q chuckled again, kissing a trail down James' scarred back as he slipped a second finger into his mouth. Obediently, James worked his tongue in between them, covering both digits in saliva and doing his best to make Q react _at all_ , to make him break his composure and just _touch_ him already.

“Someone's eager.”

The words were spoken against James' lower back, and Q's fingers slipped out of his mouth a moment later, leaving a wet trail as they moved down his chest. They tore a moan out of him with they traced the curve of his cock, and he made a sound that he would later deny when the long, pale fingers continued their journey, brushing past his bollocks and over his perineum before lightly, teasingly circling his entrance.

“ _Q_...”

“You're mine,” Q said against his hip, nipping at the bone as he applied the faintest traces of pressure to James' hole. “And I'm going to take care of you.”

“Yours,” James breathed in agreement, and he felt Q smirk. The boffin slid to his feet, then, his hands leaving entirely as he opened a drawer in the desk. The agent watched as he got out a condom in a foil packet and a small, palm-sized bottle of lube that still had the protective seal on it. “Not one for office romances?” James joked, his demeanor crumbling a little when Q turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Bought it especially for you. My personal supply is in another drawer.”

James' eyes went wide, and for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine Q laying back in his office chair with a hand down in between his legs, hand slicked with lube as he jerked himself off. Despite himself, he let out a quite, whimper-like moan, his eyes flickering open just in time to see Q pop the button on his trousers.

James expected the hacker to undress quickly, with precision and the kind of hurried grace that came with the anticipation of sex, but he was (pleasantly) surprised to see Q's hips sway as he pushed down the flies of his trousers. His shirt and sweater were hiked up to reveal a thin sliver of a flat stomach, and all of a sudden, it was very difficult for the agent to keep his hands on the desk, when all they wanted to do was touch and wreck and mark.

Q smirked, rolling his hips slightly as his trousers fell to the floor. James' hips jerked against thin air, searching for friction because _fuck_ , the bulge in Q's pants was not something he could ignore. “Q,” he repeated, his voice already rough around the edges. 

The hacker toed off his shoes and socks before stepping out of his trousers. His sweater followed, and his shirt soon after that, leaving him in only his pants. James' eyes raked over Q's chest, taking in the slightly prominent ribs, the dusky nipples, the treasure trail of dark hair leading down past the waistband of his pants. He looked utterly edible, and James prayed to god that he would get a chance to taste before his 'debrief' was over.


	3. ...word.

Q was behind him, then, fingers curling over his hips as the boffin's teeth connected with the muscle of James' neck. The agent jerked and moaned unabashedly, his head falling forward. His hips rutted back of their own accord, and the sharp gasp the motion tore from Q's chest was worth the reprimanding nip to his pulse that he got. “The minions are going to s-suspect,” he bit out, unable to resist slowly grinding his hips back against Q's pelvis.

Q simply hummed, his lips ghosting over the back of Bond's neck. “I'm sure they'd appreciate the show,” he murmured, and then gestured at the wall. “Soundproof. I thought about making you beg, you know.” His mouth moved down over Bond's shoulder. “Because you'd tell me no, and I'm sure you'd pout, but you want this far too much. So you would cave.”

He sunk his teeth into the meat of Bond's shoulder, making him jerk and let out a half-aborted moan. “Q,” he bit out, arching his back and pushing his hips towards the hacker's groin. “I swear to God, I'll...”

Bond's words stopped abruptly as two of Q's slicked fingers pushed into him. The fit was tight, and the burn was just barely on the right side of painful, making his breath catch in his throat and his muscles clench wantonly around Q's fingers. “I don't think I told you to speak,” Q murmured, and Bond's knees very nearly gave way.

“Sir?” Bond tried, blushing when Q laughed, fully and openly.

“None of that,” the boffin said, curling his fingers as he dragged them out of Bond. “I just don't want to deal with you trying to uphold your Alpha persona while I fuck you until you collapse.”

Bond groaned, biting his lip. The drag of Q's fingers inside him was torturous, too much and not enough at the same time. “Are you actually going to fuck me?” he shot back. “Or are you all talk?”

The sensation of Q's fingers slamming back into him tore his breath from his throat, making him spread his legs wider and rut back against the digits. He opened his mouth to say something sarcastic, but as soon as his lips parted, Q's other hand covered his mouth, tipping his head back. “I'd say you were eager, but that doesn't quite cover it, now does it?”

Bond whimpered, biting out a mumbled, “Q!”as the hacker curled his fingers, brushing them over the swollen bump of his prostate. 

Two of Q's fingers slipped into his mouth at the same time he added a third to Bond's slick hole. The stretch, combined with the very real, very solid presence of Q's fingers in his mouth made his cock twitch, his hips jerking forward before thrusting back as he fucked himself open on Q's digits. 

Q hummed, pressing a biting kiss to the side of Bond's neck. “I think you're desperate,” he whispered, his tongue dancing over the shell of Bond's ear. “I think you need this. I think you need someone to take this control away from you.” He rocked his hips against Bond's thigh, sighing into his ear. “You need someone to _fuck_ you.”

That was it.

Bond went tense, his mouth tightening around Q's fingers as he came. It was Q's damn voice in his ear, and his fingers filling him up, and he was coming, shooting hot, white ropes over Q's desk.

He lay there for a few moments, propped up against Q's desk, sucking absently at the boffin's fingers. He made to move, then, intending to get down on his knees and use his mouth to get Q off, but Q stopped him, moving the fingers buried in his arse just a little. “I told you that you needed someone to fuck you,” he murmured. “I intend to carry through on that.”

Bond jerked and moaned, letting his head fall forward as Q's fingers slipped out of his mouth. He felt limp and loose, and he didn't protest when the hacker removed the fingers from his wet hole, dropping them to gently fondle his bollocks. He felt Q shift, then, and something hot and blunt pressed up against his loose entrance.

“I don't,” he managed, before Q shut him up, a hand placed laced than delicately on his throat. 

“I know how to avoid causing you pain,” Q whispered, slowly pushing forward into Bond. He purposefully avoided hitting the agent's prostate, letting out a low moan into Bond's ear. “God, you're good. So tight, James.”

The sound of his name made Bond shake and spread his legs further, trying to offer himself as best he could for Q. He was still soft, still sensitive, but he could take it. He could bring the hacker a modicum of the pleasure he had given him, and... oh.

Q's warm, wet digits wrapped around his cock, stroking him slowly as he bottomed out, pressing his chest against Bond's back. He kissed the side of the agent's neck, licking his pulse softly before brushing his thumb over the head of Bond's cock. “I think I'll let you come again, since you're spreading yourself out so nicely for me.”

Bond simply nodded, pushing himself up onto his hands. “I want you,” he bit out, his muscles clenching around Q. “Please. Fuck, Q. _Please_.”

Q hushed him gently, rocking his hips back before sliding forward, snapping them a little at the end of the stroke. That drew a grunt out of Bond, so Q did it again, this time angling his pelvis to brush over Bond's prostate.

Bond jerked, whining as Q slowly stroked him back to arousal. There was almost too much stimulation, too much to _feel_ , and all he could do was rut mindlessly back and forth, fucking himself on Q's cock and into his fist.

It only took a moment and a mumbled plea on Bond's end to get Q to slam into him, making him pull up onto his toes and moan. He did it again, and then again, setting a steady rhythm as he kept Bond pinned to the desk.

The agent tipped his head tipped back, eyes screwed shut at the pleasure. Q took the opportunity to kiss him, rough and wanting, his tongue claiming Bond's mouth in the same way that his cock was claiming the rest of his body. It felt right. It felt... “Jesus _Christ_ , Q.”

The hacker didn't respond, but his thrusts became harder, faster, slamming into Bond and pulling harsh, grunting moans out of him. Somehow, some way, he was close again, Q's hand and cock having brought him right up to the edge. He said something, then, about coming, and then next thing he knew, Q was spilling inside, him, his hand tightening slightly around Bond's throat. 

In between Q's unsteady, half-aborted thrusts, Bond came for the second time, going limp against the desk as Q continued to pant and moan above him. He was strung out, blissful and pliant, which Q used to his favour a moment later as he gently lowered Bond into his chair.

The agent made a noise to warn Q about getting his chair absolutely filthy. Q didn't seem to mind, though. On the contrary, he pulled out a drawer, taking a blanket from it and laying it over Bond.

“Rest,” he said softly, and Bond complied, finding it too hard to argue. He curled up a little tighter, drawing the blanket up around himself and closing his eyes.

He awoke, deliciously sore, an hour or two later. He stretched a little, and then got to his feet, the blanket falling to the floor and exposing his bare body. A black mark on his arm caught his eye, and he raised it, smiling when he saw what Q had written on his skin.

_As you were in Kenya, next time._

**Author's Note:**

> For [TheBritishGovernment](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBritishGovernment/pseuds/TheBritishGovernment)


End file.
